Gombey the Birdcatcher

In the far north of Japan, on the island of Hokkaido, in the village of Inagi, there lived a peasant named Gombei. He had no father, no mother, no wife, and no children. He didn’t even own any land. He lived alone at the very edge of the village in a small hut and made his living by hunting wild ducks.

Every day, Gombei would rise before dawn, walk to a large lake near the village, set up willow snares, and wait by the water for hours, hoping to catch ducks. Some days he managed to catch three ducks, other days only two. Sometimes, only one duck would fall into his traps, and occasionally, none at all.

One early spring, Gombei brought home only one duck for three days in a row. On the third evening, as he returned from hunting, he began to think:

“Every day I set three snares, sit by the lake from dawn till dusk, and only catch one duck. Tomorrow I’ll have to get up before sunrise again and spend the whole day freezing by the shore. What if I set a hundred snares on the lake? Then I could catch so many ducks at once that I could stay home for a whole month, warming myself by the stove.”

The next morning, Gombei didn’t go anywhere. Instead, he sat down to weave willow snares. He made a hundred snares, set them up on the lake, and went to sleep for the night. All night, he dreamed the same dream: ducks from all over the world were flying to his snares and landing right in them. Gombei woke up in the middle of the night, quickly dressed, and ran to the lake. When he reached the shore, there were no ducks on the lake. The snares were just as he had left them the evening before. All the snares were tied together with a rope, and the end of the rope was wrapped around a tree.

Gombei inspected the snares and hid by the tree on the shore. Gradually, it began to grow light. Suddenly, a great many ducks appeared from somewhere. They circled over the lake in a flock, and then one duck landed on the water, followed by another, then a third, and a fourth. As soon as a duck landed on the water, it would immediately get caught in Gombei’s snares.

Soon, there was a duck in every snare. Only one snare remained empty, and one last duck was still flying over the lake. Gombei untied the rope from the tree and began slowly winding it around his hand. He didn’t want to pull up the snares while even one snare was still empty.

“If I catch just one more duck, I’ll have a hundred. Then I’ll pull up the snares.”

Meanwhile, the sun had risen, and its bright rays fell on the lake, making the water sparkle and shimmer. The ducks on the water stirred, flapped their wings, and all ninety-nine of them, with the snares on their feet, rose into the air. Gombei pulled the rope tightly. But the ducks were stronger than him—there were ninety-nine of them, after all. They rose higher and higher, and the rope pulled Gombei with them. Soon, he was lifted off the ground and into the air. The higher the ducks flew, the higher Gombei rose. He hung from the end of the rope, clinging to it with both hands. The lake was far below him. Gombei squinted—he was afraid to look down. The ducks flew higher and higher, over the lake, over the village, over the forest, and up over the mountain. Suddenly, the rope holding Gombei snapped. The ducks flew away, and Gombei was left hanging in the air. His heart froze with fear.

At this point, Gombei should have fallen, but he didn’t. Surprised, he cautiously opened his eyes. And what did he see? He was still flying through the air. The wind had caught him. A strong wind carried Gombei high above the ground, over forests, mountains, valleys, and the sea, far, far to the south. Gombei flew for a day, then another, then a third. On the third day, the wind died down a little, and Gombei began to slowly descend to the ground. He looked down and saw rooftops and a field below. In the field, peasants were sowing barley. Gombei landed right in the middle of the field. The peasants dropped their tools and ran toward him from all sides. Gombei stamped his feet and waved his arms—after the long flight, he couldn’t feel his arms or legs—and then politely greeted the peasants and asked:

“What village is this? Where have I ended up?”
“This is the village of Akano,” the peasants replied.
“I’ve never heard of such a village. Are you Japanese?”
“Of course, we’re Japanese! You must be from far away if you don’t know the village of Akano.”
“I’m from Hokkaido, the very north of Japan.”
“The village of Akano is on the island of Kyushu, the very south of Japan. How did you get here, and why did you fall from the sky?”

Then Gombei told the peasants how the ducks had lifted him into the air and how the wind had carried him for three days.

“Now you’ll never make it back home,” the peasants said after hearing Gombei’s story. “You’d have to cross many straits and seas and walk the entire length of Japan from south to north. That’s beyond your strength. You’d better stay with us. Settle in our village, help us with our work, and we’ll feed you.”

Gombei thought for a moment and agreed.
“I have nothing and no one left back home. Why shouldn’t I live with you?”

And so Gombei stayed in the village of Akano on the island of Kyushu. He settled in with the peasants, helped them with their work, sowed barley with them, and pulled weeds. Time passed quickly, spring ended, and then summer. The barley grew and ripened, and it was time for the harvest.

One early morning, the peasants went to the field with sickles and began harvesting. Gombei also set to work diligently. Suddenly, he came across a very thick, tall stalk of barley. Gombei bent it down to the ground and was about to cut it with his sickle when the stalk sprang back and struck him with such force that it threw him into the air. But Gombei didn’t fall to the ground. The wind caught him again and lifted him high above the field.

Gombei wasn’t surprised. He immediately understood what was happening.
“This must be the same wind that brought me to Kyushu! Now the wind is returning, and of course, it will take me home.”

This time, Gombei arranged himself more comfortably in the air so that his arms and legs wouldn’t go numb again.

The wind carried Gombei high above the ground: over forests, mountains, valleys, and the sea, far, far to the north. Gombei flew through the air all day, but by evening, the wind died down, and Gombei slowly descended to the ground.

“I only flew for a day this time, but last time I flew for three days. That means I haven’t reached Hokkaido yet,” Gombei thought.

He looked around. Indeed, the place was unfamiliar. All around was a desolate plain. There wasn’t a single tree or bush in sight.

Gombei grew frightened. Moreover, the sun had already set, and it was getting dark. Dark clouds were gathering from all sides.

“It’s going to rain soon. Where will I take shelter?” Gombei thought. He quickly walked forward, hoping to reach some kind of dwelling.

Suddenly, he stumbled upon a large white mushroom.
“What strange mushrooms grow in this country!” Gombei thought. But when he bent down, he saw that it wasn’t a mushroom at all but a wide peasant hat woven from rice straw.

“This is great!” Gombei rejoiced. “With this hat, I won’t get wet in the rain!”

He picked up the hat and tried to put it on his head. But the hat was too small for him. Gombei tugged at the wide brim for a long time and finally managed to pull it onto his head. To keep it from flying away, he tied the strings under his chin and continued walking.

Gombei hadn’t walked even a hundred steps before the rain began to fall. The sky was completely overcast. The wind tore at the hat on his head. But the hat fit snugly on Gombei’s head, and the strings were tied tightly.

The wind tugged at the hat for a long time and finally lifted it into the air, taking Gombei with it. The wind carried him so high that Gombei could no longer see the ground below—no forests, no mountains, no sea—only clouds beneath his feet.

For the first time in his life, Gombei saw clouds so close. Some were curly, others smooth; some were thick and fluffy, while others were flat and thin.

He flew above the clouds for a day, then another. On the third day, the wind died down, and Gombei began to descend to the ground.

“Where will I end up now?” Gombei wondered.
He looked down and saw that he was descending into a large village. In the middle of the village stood a tall five-story pagoda. Before Gombei could get a good look at it, he found himself at the very top of the pagoda, clinging to the spire with his hands. Standing so high was even scarier than flying.

Gombei looked around, searching for stairs, but there were none. Then Gombei shouted at the top of his voice:

“Help! Help!”
At the sound of his cry, people came running out of their houses. The entire village gathered around the pagoda. At first, no one could tell where the voice was coming from. Suddenly, a boy shouted:

“There’s a man on the pagoda!”
Then everyone crowded around the pagoda and looked up. From below, Gombei looked so tiny that he was hard to see. But he looked down and shouted:

“Help! Help!”
And suddenly, he felt dizzy.
Gombei swayed, let go of the spire, and fell from the pagoda right onto the peasants gathered below. The peasants gasped, scattered in all directions, and bumped their heads together so hard that sparks flew from their eyes. The sparks set everything around them on fire. The peasants burned. The pagoda burned. Gombei burned. And the entire story burned up too.

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Gombey the Birdcatcher

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